


should've left my phone at home (this is a disaster)

by leviosaphoenix



Series: Accidents Happen [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviosaphoenix/pseuds/leviosaphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity Smoak has accidentally switched phones with a stranger - and it's going to take her two weeks to get her own back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Week One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Call Me Maybe](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/77321) by dreamingundone. 



> Happy premiere day! Just a few months ago, it didn't seem like this day would ever get here, and here we are. I wanted to get this story up for the occasion but in order to do that I've split it into two parts.
> 
> I took a break from writing Something I Need and somehow, this happened. Obviously, it's set in a 'verse where Oliver and Felicity have never met and Oliver never went on the Queen's Gambit with his father, so there's no vigilante. If canon fics are your thing, I might be posting a short follow up to this where canon Oliver and Felicity accidentally switch phones (set post-s2), so keep an eye out.
> 
> The title is from Telephone by Lady Gaga. Credit for the phone-swap idea goes entirely to dreamingundone on tumblr, who wrote an adorable Captain Swan AU that gave me the inspiration to write this. I've linked it above.

**MONDAY**

“Oh, no. No way.”

Felicity’s morning hasn’t been going great, right from waking up feeling like a hive of bees have taken up residence inside her skull. Not only that, but she’s running late, her hot water isn’t working, and her favorite peach-colored blouse accidentally went through a laundry cycle with a brand new pair of dark wash jeans and now resembles a bad tie-dye job.

To top it all off, the sleek white iPhone she is holding in her hand is not her beloved JARVIS.

Somebody high up at Queen Consolidated had decided that it would be a good idea to have a fundraiser on a Sunday night – _probably somebody who doesn’t have to show up at 8.45am on Monday_ , Felicity thinks to herself, with a touch of bitterness. She’d enjoyed the open bar and expensive champagne a little too much and had clearly become tipsy enough to accidentally pick up someone else’s phone instead. A phone with a passcode, she might add, and she doesn’t have the time or software to break the encryption right now.

She dials the hotel where the event was held from her landline. “Hi, I think I may have left my cell behind last night. I was wondering if it had been handed in?”

There’s a brief pause while the staff member checks, but she’s out of luck.

She goes to work anyway, arriving at 9.23am, periodically trying her own number from her office phone, but it goes straight to voicemail each time. _You’ve reached Felicity. Mom, try turning it off and on again. Anybody else, leave a message at the beep._ The impostor phone buzzes frequently with texts and emails, but without the passcode, she can’t read them. She hopes _T_ or _Speedy_ will call, so she can figure out just who she managed to accidentally rob at a work function.

Her supervisor in the IT department pushes her lunch back for her late start, so it’s after two by the time she opens up her salad and lifts a forkful to her mouth. Of course, as she’s chewing, the phone lights up with her own number.

“Hello?”

 _“Who’s this?”_ a male voice demands roughly on the other end of the line.

“I’m, uh, I think I took your phone.”

_“Yes, you did. Are you going to give it back or will I have to get the SCPD involved?”_

She frowns. “It wasn’t _intentional_. Just tell me where to meet you and we can swap back over.”

 _“That’s going to be a problem_.”

“How so?”

_“I’m on the east coast for work right now; I flew out this morning. I won’t be back in Starling for at least two weeks.”_

Her heart sinks at his words. “Oh.”

_“Leave it with my secretary. She can field all the calls while I’m gone.”_

“What about me? I need mine back, too!”

_“Your mom wants to know if you’re going to dinner with the son of her friend from book club. Other than that, your need for it doesn’t seem pressing.”_

“How dare you read my messages?” she growls, outraged. “Speaking of, who’s Speedy? Your drug dealer?”

There’s a slight pause. _“Why? What did she say?”_

“I wouldn’t know; there’s a passcode lock on your phone.”

 _“Zero-one-two-one,”_ he answers instantly. _“But if you start distributing private conversations or photos to the media, we’re going to have issues.”_

His words confuse her, but she’s busy putting the phone on speaker so she can scroll through the messages. “Speedy backed her… it’s a her, right? She says she backed her car into another by accident and she needs the insurance paperwork to get it fixed.”

The mystery man swears. _“I’ll call her. I have to go; I have a meeting.”_

The call ends so abruptly that she just stares at the screen for a moment.

“Wait,” she murmurs, faintly. “What about my phone?”

* * *

 

Felicity is too busy with work until 5.30pm to even think about the cell debacle, so when it rings as she’s driving home, she’s instantly snappy.

“So I can’t call you because you’re _too busy_ , but I have to be available at your every beck and call?”

 _“You didn’t give the phone to my secretary,”_ he remarks.

“I don’t even know who you are!” she almost shouts in frustration.

_“I would have thought a smart girl like you could have figured it out by now, Felicity.”_

She almost swerves off the road in surprise. “How do you know my name?”

_“I had a very interesting conversation with someone by the name of Sara.”_

Felicity groans aloud. Her best friend is constantly on her back about the lack of male presence in her life, and she’s sure that this won’t improve that situation at all.

“I’m so sorry about her.”

_“Don’t be. It was… enlightening.”_

The note of amusement in his voice infuriates her. “Look, what are we going to do? I can’t just be without my cell for two weeks.”

_“I apologize, but it’s just something we will have to deal with, for now. I’ve informed all the necessary people about the mishap, and you should do the same. Other than that, I guess, just keep note of any important calls?”_

Felicity sighs. “Fine.”

Later, she curls up in her pyjamas on her sofa, flicking absently through the numerous apps installed on the phone. When she comes across the photos, she hesitates for only a second before opening them up to skim through.

There are a lot of screenshots of what look like business documents, which she passes over. A pretty girl with short brown hair in the lap of a teenage boy in a red hoodie – she wonders if that’s her mystery man’s daughter.

Then she reaches the pictures of a woman, perhaps a few years older than herself, smiling and letting her long curls fall over her face as if she were hiding from the camera. Frowning, she flicks to the next photo, and almost drops the phone in shock.

The CEO of Queen Consolidated beams back at her, with his arms around the girl. There is a cake in front of them, with pink letters spelling _Happy Birthday, Laurel!_

The next photo, of him and a dark-haired guy she knows to be Thomas Merlyn confirms it. She should have recognized the voice, the brisk way he’d first spoken to her, even the hint that he was out of town on business. She’d never met him, but what she knew of him was that he was the youngest billionaire in the country and often left a trail of heartbroken women wherever he went.

None of that changes anything, she reminds herself.

It’s going to be an interesting two weeks, because she has Oliver Queen’s cell phone.

* * *

**TUESDAY**

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Rolling over with a groan, she fumbles on her nightstand to look for the source of the offending racket. Through bleary eyes, she peers at the display on the screen, then curses and falls back into her pillows.

“What kind of lunatic sets their alarm for five a.m.?” she asks aloud, but is greeted with only the silence of the morning.

Despite being awake late on the phone to Sara, to explain the phone situation and answer her resulting quick-fire quiz about Oliver Queen, she can’t get back to sleep. She gives up, quickly making herself some strong coffee and resigning herself to thinking that she’ll at least make it to work on time today.

The day is mostly uneventful. As usual, a couple of execs need their computers debugged after one too many dirty videos – no matter how vehemently they deny it, they don’t get anything past her – and she fixes the new software upgrade for accounting in a personal record of eighteen minutes and forty-nine seconds. She’s in a pretty good mood by the time the phone buzzes just before clock-off time.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Queen.”

_“Please, call me Oliver. Mr. Queen was my father.”_

“Right, but he’s dead,” she chirps, then cringes as her words register. “I mean, he drowned… I’m sorry. Did you need something?”

_“Yes, actually. Could you do me a favor and forward all the document screenshots dated the 23 rd of last month to the email address I’ll text through to you? You have the only copies and I need them by six tonight.”_

“Hmm, I don’t know, it might cost you,” she jokes.

 _“Name your price.”_ There’s an amused lilt behind his tone, and it does strange things to her insides.

“A bottle of wine?” she teases.

“ _I’ll take it into consideration_.”

Three hours later, however, she still hasn’t received a reply to her email and decides that fulfilling her demand wouldn’t be top priority for one of the busiest businessmen in the country. She sighs, clicking over to the next _Grey’s Anatomy_ episode on her DVR and resolving not to wallow in self-pity any longer.

Her doorbell rings and, thinking Mrs. Goldberg must have forgotten her keys again, she buzzes them up without checking. When a light knock at the door sounds a few moments later, she wraps her blanket around her shoulders and shuffles to the door in confusion.

“Felicity Smoak?”

“Yes?” she blinks at the uniformed, pimply teen, who wordlessly holds out a box, wrapped in silver paper.

She sits down on her sofa to inspect it, recognizing the stamp of the Starling Courier Service from various office documents, and quickly skims the unsigned note taped to the front. _I hope this makes it worthwhile_.

Unable to wait any longer, she tears open the paper and stares in astonishment at the Lafite Rothschild nestled in the royal blue satin.

“I love red wine,” she whispers, caressing the bottle in awe and wondering how he knew.

* * *

**WEDNESDAY  
**

The phone rings with a blocked number during her lunch break, and she at least finishes her mouthful of pita before she answers.

“Oliver Queen’s phone?” she says, injecting false cheeriness into her voice just in case it’s business-related.

“ _No way!”_ shrieks a voice on the other end of the line. _“I didn’t believe it when Jessica said he was a man-whore! I thought we had something special!”_

Felicity hesitates. “Um, I’m sorry, who is this?”

 _“It’s Talia!”_ the girl responds, breaking down into tears. _“Let me speak to Oliver; I want to tell him what an ASS he is!”_

“That’s not possible right now, but I can take a message?”

 _“Screw him! Oh wait, you probably already have, just like every other woman on this side of the country!”_ Talia hangs up, leaving a baffled Felicity holding the cell to her ear as if it might provide her with more answers.

Oliver calls later, and they briefly exchange pleasantries as she folds her legs under her and saves the files she was working on.

“So I had an interesting phone call today…”

 _“How so?”_ he asks, curiously.

“Her name was Talia, and she didn’t seem to be very happy with you.”

Oliver curses. _“I’m sorry, Felicity. I have no idea how she got my number. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”_

“It’s fine. What’s her deal, anyway?”

_“She was my date to the fundraiser on Sunday evening, and evidently she developed the wrong idea about our relationship.”_

“What _is_ your relationship?” she asks, before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry; it’s none of my business.”

He laughs. _“You’re entitled to ask. There’s no relationship at all; I was clear about that with her from the beginning.”_

Felicity bites her lip. It was all very well for him to have a voice smoother than melted chocolate, a physique befitting that of a male model, and enough money to send her extravagant gifts on a whim, but she knows better than to get in too deep with this kind of guy. She’s been hurt by his type before, and she isn’t eager to repeat the experience.

_“Did you enjoy the wine?”_

She jolts from her thoughts, relieved he can’t see the flush spread across her face. “That’s not Tuesday-night-at-home wine; it’s not even only-in-the-event-of-an-apocalypse wine. That’s the kind of wine you lock in a cabinet and admire from afar and pass onto your children.”

_“You didn’t even taste it?”_

“Nope, I enjoyed my six-dollars-a-bottle wine instead.”

 _“Drink it,”_ he assured her. _“I’ll send you another for you to… pass onto your children, or whatever.”_

Her jaw drops open, but he’s already disconnected the call.

“Smoak!” barks a voice from just behind her. “This isn’t your social time. Put that phone away and get back to work!”

“Yes, Martin,” she says meekly to her supervisor.

But for the rest of the evening, she can’t help but wonder if Oliver was serious.

* * *

**THURSDAY**

She leaves work almost an hour later than usual, after her supervisor asked her to stay back to fix up some paperwork that he’d filled in incorrectly. Exhausted and pissed off, she isn’t impressed to see a dark-haired guy in a suit waiting patiently by her car.

“I swear, I didn’t hit your BMW,” she scowls. “That dent’s been there for years; I backed into a fence.”

“Whoa, sweetheart,” he drawls, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m not here for your insurance details. I just want to talk.”

She recognises the boyish smile as she gets closer. “Tommy Merlyn.”

“In the flesh. You must be Felicity.”

“ _Enchantée_ ,” she deadpans. “What do you want?”

“Ollie told me about your little cell situation. The way he talked about you was intriguing, so I decided I wanted to meet you.”

She puts her hands on her hips, frowning. “How’d you know what kind of car I drive?”

He shrugs. “So I pulled a few strings, is that such a bad thing?”

“It’s a little creepy, that’s what it is.” She pushes past him, reaching for the door handle.

“Let me take you to dinner.”

She freezes. “Why?”

“Why not?” he grins, with that self-satisfied look that all little rich boys develop when they’re used to getting their way.

“Because I don’t know you, and I don’t know what your endgame is here.”

Tommy drops the act. “Look, Felicity…”

“What, Merlyn?”

“Let me do something nice for you. Any friend of Oliver’s is a friend of mine.”

“I’m not a friend of Oliver. I’m just his personal answering service for the foreseeable future.”

She climbs into the car, determined to ignore him, but she can’t help glancing back at him and noticing the disappointed look on his face. Against her better judgement, she sighs and rolls down the window.

“Why me?”

“You’ve got Oliver wrapping himself in knots. I want to know why,” he says, honestly.

“Just dinner?” Felicity clarifies.

“Yes.”

“Just as friends?”

“Yes, I promise.” He’s almost bouncing on his toes with excitement.

“Fine,” she concedes. “You have Oliver’s number. Text me the details. You’d better make it worth it, Merlyn.”

“Please, you owe it to me,” he scoffs. “You really hurt my feelings.”

“Oh, really?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yep. I don’t drive a BMW.”

She rolls her eyes at him, reaching to wind up the window again, but he stops her with a hand on her arm and a glint in his eye.

“I drive an Audi.”

* * *

**SATURDAY**

Saturday morning dawns bright and sunny, so she offers to take Mrs. Goldberg’s poodle out for a run. Lily seems content to wander around sniffing the grass, so Felicity leans back against the trunk of a tree and idly passes a few levels of Angry Birds for Oliver.

The phone vibrates in her hand with a new text message, and she doesn’t even hesitate before opening it.

 _Saturday meetings are the worst – O._ It’s accompanied by a slightly blurry photo of a long table covered in papers and stationery, and she deduces from the angle that Oliver had subtly snapped the pic from his lap.

 _Sneaky-cam shots during business?_ she quickly types back. _Aren’t you a dedicated CEO?_

She whistles to Lily and tosses the slightly chewed rubber ball for the dog to fetch.

 _I’m bored_ , comes Oliver’s reply. _What are you doing at the moment?_

Lily trots up to her, and before she can change her mind, Felicity leans in and quickly snaps a photo of herself and the dog, who manages to lick her cheek mid-shot. The resulting photo – with Felicity giggling, her nose wrinkled up – is actually quite cute, so she sends it through with the caption _I’m on a date._

 _Adorable._  Felicity blushes, then laughs aloud as his second message pops up. _The poodle is, too._

 _So cheesy, Mr. Queen._ She wonders vaguely if what they’re doing constitutes as flirting, but her train of thought is derailed as he sends through another picture, again angled from his lap, but of his face in a ridiculous expression, his eyes crossed and tongue out.

_You know that is now saved on JARVIS for eternity. I could use it to blackmail you._

He doesn’t answer immediately, so she takes Lily home, and Mrs. Goldberg insists that she stay for a cup of tea.

Oliver calls her just as she’s dropping her house keys into the turtle-shaped bowl by the door.

“You know I wasn’t being serious about blackmailing you.”

_“I know. I had to look up what a JARVIS was.”_

Felicity laughs. “Not _a_ JARVIS. Just a rather very intelligent system, it’s from _Iron Man_.”

 _“Which I’ve never seen,”_ he admits, and she gives a scandalized gasp.

“It’s only one of the greatest movies ever!”

_“I’ll take your word for it. You honestly call your cell phone-“_

“JARVIS, yes,” she cuts him off. “And don’t think you’re getting off that easy. I have _Iron Man_ on Blu-ray.”

She hears his sharp intake of breath and realizes what she’d accidentally implied.

“I mean, I can lend it to you, of course. I’m not inviting you over, like in a weird way, because you’re my boss and all and I don’t even properly know you…”

 _“Felicity,”_ he says, patiently.

“Yes?”

 _“I would love to watch it with you, when I get back to Starling City.”_ The smile in his voice sends thrills down her spine, and she forgets why this is a bad idea.

“I would love that, too."


	2. Week Two

**MONDAY**

At exactly six in the evening, a calendar reminder flashes up on the screen.

_Laurel’s birthday._ Felicity sucks in a breath, having forgotten about Oliver’s on-again-off-again girlfriend, and she thinks that it’s possible he’s forgotten her, too.

After her dinner with Tommy the previous evening, she knows that Laurel has been an important part of Oliver’s life for a long time.

She decides to text him, then changes her mind and calls instead. She tells herself it’s not because she loves hearing his voice, but because phone calls are more personal and people these days are losing the art of conversation to instant messaging.

After all, it’s not like she can help that hearing his voice makes her shiver; that’s just an added bonus.

_“Good evening, Felicity,”_ he greets her.

“Hey, what are you up to?”

_“Nothing much. I just finished up dinner with an investor.”_

Felicity frowns for a moment, before she remembers the time difference. “Did it go well?”

_“I hope so. What can I do for you?”_

Gritting her teeth, she dives right in. “It’s just, you had a reminder set on your phone; I thought I’d better let you know. It’s Laurel’s birthday.”

He’s silent on the other end of the line.

“I thought, in case it was important…”

_“Thank you, Felicity,”_ he sighs.

“No problem. I know she’s your girlfriend…” she trails off, remembering that it really wasn’t much of her business.

_“Ex, actually. I haven’t spoken to Laurel in months.”_

In the heavy silence, she can feel the burden on his shoulders, but knows that he is too polite to release it unless she pushes. “Why is that?”

_“Laurel and I are complicated.”_

“I’ve only got time,” Felicity says, lying down on her back on the couch and propping her head up on a cushion. “I’m listening.”

_“I loved Laurel. I still do.”_ Felicity ignores the slight plummet of her insides at his words. _“But we’re very different people; we want different things. We dated in high school, which was fine, but then my mother pushed for us to stay together through college, long distance. I was reckless then; I just wanted to have fun.”_

“I remember,” she murmurs, softly.

_“Laurel was away getting her degree, and I hurt her. She didn’t deserve that. Since then, we’ve been on and off more times than I can count. We’re not right for each other.”_

“You said you want different things out of life.”

_“Laurel has her whole career planned out: high-powered lawyer, district attorney, traveling the country, making a name for herself, making a difference.”_

“And you don’t want that?”

_“My life is here. This is my city, and after my father passed, I knew that I had to start taking steps to make it better.”_

A smile spreads across her face, hearing the conviction behind his words, the sincerity. This is the real Oliver Queen, not the one that the tabloids know.

_“My father wasn’t always a good man. He’d made enemies; he’d caused people pain. He could be selfish and impatient, and many would be hurt when he tried to achieve his goals. I want to give back to the community, to those who were affected. I want to use Queen Consolidated to make Starling City a better place.”_ He laughs, slightly embarrassed. _“Is that lame? It probably sounded lame.”_

“No, actually,” Felicity says, swallowing hard. “That sounds perfectly reasonable.”

_“I’m sorry. You didn’t call to hear all about my problems.”_

“Oliver, if anybody understands complicated parents, I do, okay? My dad left when I was seven and my mother is a cocktail waitress. I decided that I wanted more out of life so I worked to get to college and never looked back. I think it’s admirable that you know what you want and are actively trying to get there. There is _nothing_ lame about that.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then he thanks her.

“Don’t mention it. And hey, I know it’s not my place, but it sounds like you really do care about Laurel, even if you guys aren’t meant to be. Maybe you could try to be friends? You could start by just sending her a happy birthday text.”

_“You’re right,”_ he murmurs. _“Bye, Felicity.”_

“Bye.”

* * *

**WEDNESDAY**

Two days.

She doesn’t hear anything from him for two whole days. It had seemed like they were getting along, especially since their conversation on Monday.

When her messages to him that night are met with silence, she worries that something is wrong.

_“Felicity.”_ His voice sounds flat, lifeless, devoid of the usual levity he has when saying her name.

“Oliver, what’s going on? Has something happened?”

There is silence on the other end of the line, as if he is debating something with himself before telling her.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” she murmurs, trying to sound comforting.

_“You had a phone call,”_ he says, tightly.

“Oh?”

_“From the HR department at Wayne Industries. They’re interested in scheduling an interview.”_

“Oh,” she cringes. Of course this would happen to her – of all people, the CEO of her company is in possession of her phone when QC’s biggest rival finally calls her back.

_“I don’t understand. Are you unhappy at Queen Consolidated?”_

“No, not at all,” she says, too quickly. “I sent them my résumé a while back and never heard anything from them.”

_“Why?”_ There’s an undercurrent of what she thinks might be hurt in his tone.

“You know, change of scenery, I guess. And my supervisor…”

_“Martin? What about him?”_

“He’s, uh, not that I’m complaining, but, he’s useless. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and constantly forces other people to take the fall when he messes up. He’s rude and misogynistic; there are only a few women in the department and he treats all of us like we didn’t earn our degrees to be there and just for _once_ I’d like to be able to get dressed in the morning without having to think about wearing something that won’t encourage him to leer at me like I’m some cheap adult movie star… and you did not need to know all of that.”

He laughs lightly. _“I appreciate your honesty. It’s refreshing.”_

She blushes, and thanks her lucky stars that he isn’t there to see her right now.

_“I’ll have someone look into Martin,”_ he continues.

She toys with the hem of her cardigan guiltily. “You don’t have to do that.”

_“Yes, I do, and I want you to reconsider your decision to leave.”_

“Oliver, I’m not leaving.”

He pauses, briefly. _“You’ll stay with QC?”_

“Yeah, I’m not going anywhere, even if the CEO is a total jerk who steals girls’ phones.” His answering laughter sends a thrill through her, warming her right to her fingertips.

_“I agree. I will call Wayne Industries back and cancel your interview.”_

“You scheduled my interview?” she demands. “Why?”

_“I would never stand in your way,”_ he offers, simply. _“Goodnight, Felicity.”_

She sits in silence long after he hangs up, wondering if she’s tripped and fallen into something she can’t handle.

Oliver Queen is an enigma, and she has at least five more days to figure him out.

* * *

**THURSDAY**

The tinkling ringtone chimes at three in the morning, and Felicity doesn’t look at the display before answering.

“Hello?” she murmurs, sleepily.

_“Sorry, I was trying to reach Mr. Queen,”_ an unfamiliar male voice answers.

“Who is this?” she inquires, sitting up and reaching for her glasses as if they’d help clear her thoughts.

_“My name is Feng; I’m a bartender at Poison. It’s about his sister.”_

“Mr. Queen is out of town at the moment,” Felicity explains. “Poison, the nightclub?”

_“Yes. Miss Queen has had a little too much to drink, and she doesn’t want to go home to her family.”_

Felicity sighs, clambering out of bed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She doesn’t even bother changing out of her pyjamas, just throwing on her favorite MIT sweater as she gets into her car.

It doesn’t take her long to drive down to the popular strip of nightclubs, and the bouncer outside _Poison_ gives her a disdainful look.

“No, I’m just here to pick somebody up,” she explains, trying not to get flustered.

He continues to stare at her, disbelievingly.

“Thea Queen? A guy named Feng called me?”

“Feng?” he repeats, and she nods. “Wait here.”

Two minutes pass, and then the bouncer returns, half-carrying a very unfocused young heiress. Felicity thanks him, leading Thea to her car and trying to settle her in the passenger seat.

“Hi, Thea, my name is Felicity,” she says as she leans over to buckle the girl’s seatbelt. “You don’t know me, but Oliver…” she trails off, wondering how to define it.

“You’re Ollie’s friend?” Thea asks.

“Yeah, let’s go with that.”

Thea’s expression morphs from groggy to distressed in a heartbeat. “Please don’t take me home,” she begs, close to tears. “My mom will be _so_ mad.”

Felicity frowns. “Thea…”

“ _Please_.”

“Fine,” she relents. “You can stay in my guestroom; is that okay?”

Thea nods, mumbling something that might have been a thank-you before nodding off, and Felicity drives back to her apartment.

She practically forces a whole bottle of water down Thea’s throat before handing her an old t-shirt and directing her to the bed, setting more water and two aspirin on the nightstand before crawling back to the warmth of her own. She feels like she’s barely fallen asleep before her alarm blares at seven, and quickly showers and dresses in a haze of tiredness.

She wrinkles her nose at the sound of retching from the guest bathroom, setting aside the toast she’d been eating and tapping lightly at the door.

“Thea?”

The only reply is a groan, so she takes that as an invitation to go in. Thea is kneeling on the tiles, her head in her hands as she wails in pain.

“Are you done puking?” Felicity asks, and Thea nods without looking up. “Good. Take the painkillers I left you.”

Thea obediently does as asked, and Felicity takes in the smeared eye makeup and tangled hair and wonders just what happened to make Starling City’s princess get like this.

“Who are you?” Thea croaks, abruptly. “I’m sorry if I don’t remember…”

“I’m Felicity; I work at QC.”

“Ah, the phone girl,” Thea says knowingly, a hint of a smile crossing her face.

“Yeah, the bartender called me, looking for your brother, and I didn’t want to just leave you there, so I came to pick you up and brought you here to sleep it off.”

Thea blinks, looking stunned. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Felicity shrugs. “Those towels are clean if you want to take a shower, and I’ve got mouthwash, but no spare toothbrushes, sorry. If you feel up to it, there’s coffee in the pot, and toast or granola. Or both, if you like.”

Thea grimaces. “Just coffee, thanks.”

“Okay. It is now,” she glances at her watch, “7.39, and I will probably leave for work in around forty minutes, if I can give you a ride anywhere?”

“No, please, I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have. I’ll call for a cab.”

Felicity smiles reassuringly. “In that case, you can take as much time as you like. Just lock the door from the inside and pull it closed behind you when you leave.”

Returning to her toast, she completely misses the look of amazement on Thea’s face.

Later, when Oliver calls, she finds herself smiling before she’s even heard his voice.

_“Thea told me what you did for her.”_

“It was nothing, really.”

_“I can’t thank you enough. Since our father died, she’s been struggling to find new ways to cope with how she’s feeling.”_

Felicity softens, her tone sympathetic. “Really, it’s nothing. When I was in college, I had a few nights that got away from me. I didn’t mind looking out for her at all.”

_“I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”_

“You’ve done enough, Oliver,” she says, firmly. It hasn’t escaped her attention that her jerk of a supervisor is no longer employed at Queen Consolidated after HR investigated an anonymous complaint. His temporary replacement, a soft-spoken woman by the name of Erica, had proven much more reasonable.

_“We’ll see. How are you, anyway?”_

She starts chatting about her day, telling him everything from the great coffee she’d gotten from the break room to how the guy from Applied Sciences had accidentally wiped his entire hard drive and she’d spent the last hour retrieving all his content.

“But I’m babbling,” she finishes, breathlessly, having realized he’d been listening to her for the better part of ten minutes.

_“I enjoyed it,”_ he replies. _“I’m sorry; I have to go. There’s something I need to take care of.”_

Surprised at his abrupt change of attitude, she wonders if she’s said or done something wrong. “Oh, okay. Bye, I guess.”

_“Bye.”_

There’s a slightly hollow feeling in her chest as she sets the phone down, and she finds herself staring at it, as if willing him to call back and apologize for the sudden end to the conversation.

He doesn’t, and she asks herself why it bothers her so much, then decides she’s not willing to admit the answer.

* * *

**FRIDAY**

“You’ve got the rest of the day off!” Thea declares as she breezes into Felicity’s office, setting an iced coffee on the desk.

“Really? Says who?” Felicity asks, suspiciously.

“Says me. It’s my name on the side of the building, too, you know.”

“Where are we going?”

“Out, so caffeinate and let’s get going.” Thea hops up onto the desk, effectively stopping Felicity from finishing what she was working on.

The coffee tastes like deliciousness and bribery, so Felicity continues to watch Thea with narrowed eyes as she sips.

“Why are you smirking at your phone?”

Thea blinks innocently. “No reason. Are you done? We have somewhere to be at two.”

“Just let me…” Felicity murmurs, reaching for the keyboard.

“Nope.”

“I just need to…”

“Nope.” Thea jumps off the desk, picking up Felicity’s purse. “We’re going now.”

“But…” Felicity protests, weakly.

“No buts! Let’s go.”

Following Thea’s instructions, Felicity pulls her car into the lot behind a day spa, a confused frown on her face.

“Why are we here?”

“My treat,” Thea says, flippantly. “It’s my way of thanking you for yesterday morning.”

“Thea, I can’t accept this…”

Thea hushes her. “My skin needs this, and I wanted company. You’re doing me a favor.”

Felicity finds herself melting into a blissful haze of massages, facials, manicures, and beauty treatments. She’s shocked to find it’s five-thirty when they finish, and Thea whisks her away to a salon to have her roots touched up before they head out for dinner, where Felicity insists on splitting the bill after all the money Thea lavished on her.

“So what’s the real reason behind today?” Felicity asks again, and she doesn’t miss the secret smile that crosses Thea’s face before she sips her water to cover it.

“Can’t I just do something nice for the woman who put up with my drunken escapades?”

It’s clear Thea isn’t going to fess up, so Felicity lets it go and heads home with more than a little bit of a buzz from the couple of glasses of wine that she’s had.

She only has a few minutes to ponder the fact that she hasn’t heard from Oliver since the previous day before the doorbell rings.

“Thea, as nice as today has been, all I want to do right now is pass out on the sofa with a book.”

“You don’t even want to spend the night with your bestie?” a different female voice whines.

“Sara!” Felicity exclaims, buzzing in her friend.

“I’m here for a sleepover, and I brought cookie dough,” Sara sings, waving her bag enticingly.

With a sappy movie in the background, they curl up together in their pyjamas and chat, munching on raw dough and Skittles.

“So what’s the deal with you and _O-li-ver_?” Sara asks, teasingly drawing out the syllables of his name and enjoying Felicity’s involuntary blush.

“ _Nothing_ is going on,” she insists. “I haven’t even spoken to him today.”

“Doesn’t mean you haven’t thought about him, and vice versa.”

“It’s not like that!”

“When I’m maid of honor at your wedding, I’ll remind you of this moment,” Sara says, knowingly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never even met the guy.”

Felicity changes the subject then, and around midnight she drifts off to sleep on the couch.

She dreams of candlelit dinners, winery tours, and a man named Oliver Queen.

* * *

**SATURDAY**

“Wake up, sleepyhead!”

Felicity groans and peers through her eyelashes at the time display on her phone.

“Sara, it’s 7am. What the _frack_ are you doing awake?”

“Dragging you out of bed, obviously. Or… couch. Whatever.” Sara tugs on her arm, succeeding in pulling a semi-conscious Felicity to a standing position. “There’s coffee if you want it, and I’ve laid out some clothes on your bed.”

“Where’re we going?” Felicity yawns.

“ _We_ aren’t going anywhere.” She shoves Felicity toward the bathroom. “Go, go, go!”

Forty-five minutes later, Sara bundles Felicity into a taxi with a packed suitcase and waves sweetly.

“What’s going on, Sara?”

The other girl just winks. “You’re welcome!”

When asked where the drop-off is, the driver simply answers, “airport,” so Felicity leans back and watches the scenery pass by.

Of course, as the taxi pulls away, Felicity realizes that she’s not at Starling Airport, but instead at a private airfield where a single small jet perches on the tarmac like a giant silver bird.

“Good morning, Miss Smoak. My name is John Diggle, but you can call me Dig, or John. Whatever works.” The kind-eyed man shakes her hand cheerfully, and doesn’t seem surprised at her confusion.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Am I even awake? I could be dreaming, and in that case this wouldn’t come anywhere _close_ to the weirdest dream I’ve had…”

“Not a dream, I can assure you, but you’re welcome to sleep once we’re in the air.”

“The air?” she squeaks.

“You didn’t think you came to an airfield just to look at the planes, did you?” John asks, smiling.

“Where are we going?”

“That, I can’t tell you.” He picks up her bag, shepherding her forward toward the steps. “Come on, we’ve got a schedule to keep.”

Felicity has flown a couple of times before, so she is used to the rush of envy as she shuffles through the narrow aisles, past the luxury of first class. Inside this jet, however, there are about fifteen reclining seats, generously spaced with tables between them, several large televisions, a bar, a conference table, and a few private rooms further toward the back of the craft.

“Sit where you like,” John tells her. “You can access the Wi-Fi once we’re in the air.”

“You sure know the way to my heart,” she deadpans.

John points to his left hand, fluttering his fingers. “I’m a married man, Miss Smoak,” he jokes.

“Pity. What does Mrs. Diggle think of all the girls you take on mysterious plane trips?”

“She doesn’t care, as long as I’m getting paid.”

Felicity loses herself in her tablet for a while before drifting off to sleep. John wakes her up shortly before they land, passing her a bottle of water and watching her with interest as she looks out the window to assess where they are.

“Is that…? No way, that’s not possible.”

“What isn’t?” he asks, amused.

“Are we in New York City?”

“Technically, we’re above it.”

Felicity sits back in her seat, awed. “I’ve never been to New York before.”

“The boss is counting on it.”

She hadn't needed a full five-hour flight to figure out who would send a private jet to bring her across the country, but that doesn’t stop her from blushing when she steps onto the tarmac to be greeted by Oliver Queen.

“A little clichéd, I know, but I’ve been here for work these last few days.”

“Why did you bring me here?” she asks, shyly.

“I’ve got the whole weekend planned: dinner, some sightseeing, a nice hotel… separate rooms, of course. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.” He tosses her a wink.

“You didn’t need to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” He frowns, looking serious. “It’s been a long two weeks, and you’ve been the bright spot amongst all of it. Talking to you has helped me clear a few things up, make a few decisions..."

“So you had your sister and my best friend kidnap me to show your appreciation. Got it.”

Oliver smirks at her, stepping closer and noticing how her blush spreads from her cheeks and down her neck. “I wanted to get to know you better, Felicity Smoak.”

“Well,” she breathes, “there isn’t much you can’t find out about me from JARVIS. I keep my entire life on that thing; my mother said she doesn’t even know how I survived a _day_ without it-”

He shuts her up with a kiss, and with a surprised squeak, she gives in completely. His fingers burrow into her hair, tilting her head at just the right angle as she slips her palms under his shirt to feel the smooth muscles of his lower back.

She gasps as he moves down the column of her throat, his stubble scratching her skin lightly as he speaks between kisses. “Now… could I… have learned that… from JARVIS?” Oliver leans back to look at her, a glint in his eye, but Felicity’s still too breathless to answer him. “It’s after five, and our reservation is at seven-thirty. We have plenty of time for you to freshen up at the hotel before dinner, if you’d like.”

She nods her assent, and he takes her hand with a smile and leads her to the waiting car, where John sits in the driver’s seat.

“Don’t get carried away back there, okay?” he says, dryly. “There are some things a man doesn’t need to see while he’s driving,”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Oliver asks innocently, even as he leans over to steal a quick kiss from her. John rolls his eyes in response.

“You are ridiculous, did you know that?” Felicity tells Oliver, and he simply shrugs.

“What can I say? I really needed my phone back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's part two! Thanks, guys; you're the best. 
> 
> I've had a request to write a companion piece that focuses more on Oliver, to fill in some of the gaps that this story has left. I also know that some of you were looking forward to hearing more about Felicity and Tommy, which is something I could incorporate in that. It'd be short; I can't commit to anything more than a thousand or so words with any certainty, but if a piece like this is something you'd like to see, please let me know in the comments. A short version of this with canon Oliver and Felicity (probably set post season 2) is still in the planning stages as well.
> 
> You can find me on twitter at @ohmyninadobreva. Thanks again for reading.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I got your number (I need to make you mine)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973635) by [leviosaphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviosaphoenix/pseuds/leviosaphoenix)




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